


Surround me

by midmorning_bomb



Series: Soft Peter [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adult Stiles Stilinski, Creeper Peter Hale, M/M, POV Peter Hale, Pining Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:01:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25367263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midmorning_bomb/pseuds/midmorning_bomb
Summary: Peter will maintain that it started innocently.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Soft Peter [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1836985
Comments: 21
Kudos: 586





	Surround me

Peter will maintain that it started innocently.

They’d put together a patrol rota that included willing pack members back in Beacon Hills after graduating, and those who’d never left. During one of Peter and Stiles’ paired rounds, they come across a błudnik that has been luring local idiots into the swamp at the southeast edge of the preserve. The resulting battle is short and disgusting, ending with Peter and Stiles covered in decaying vegetation and little bits of błudnik. They miserably make their way to Peter’s apartment downtown, showering and dressing in his softest sweaters and lounge pants. Stiles falls asleep in the living room, the day wearing on him, while Peter prepares a very late dinner. If a photo of Stiles peacefully curled into himself, in Peter’s clothing, wrapped up in Peter’s cashmere throw, on Peter’s sofa, ends up on Peter’s phone, it’s just one of those in-the-moment things. Perfectly innocent.

Except two weeks later, after a completely ridiculous turf war with a group of satyrs, who are nowhere near as chill as legend says, they’re back at Peter’s apartment. Stiles sighs down at his shredded tee, and asks Peter if he can borrow a shirt and his first aid kit. And honestly, Peter has never claimed impulse control to be a forte. Oh, he plans and manipulates and plays the long game, but his fingers itch when he wants something _right now_. So he can’t be blamed, really, when a photo of Stiles sitting topless on the edge of the clawfoot bathtub, tending to a scratch along his side, little droplets of water trailing down his lean, pale chest, ends up in the locked gallery on Peter’s phone.

After that comes the ashrays, the vodianoi, the pack barbecue, the rusalka, the car wash fundraiser for the lacrosse rec league, and the bunyip. Soon Peter has a full (locked) gallery of photos of Stiles and a problem. He’s collecting photos like some kind of sex-starved pervert. Which, technically, if he absolutely _has_ to be honest, he is, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys the self-scrutiny. He resolves to stop, both taking photos and pining over the ones he already has. He’s Peter Goddamn Hale, he’s better than this.

Three weeks into his resolution, everything goes to shit.

He hasn’t taken a single photo of Stiles in nearly a month. Peter has no comment on wistful sighs that may or may not have happened while he may or may not have been browsing through certain galleries that may or may not still be on his phone.

They’re fighting… Peter doesn’t even know what they’re fighting. Outside of b-movies, he has never seen 2-foot tall murder wasps. The closest he could get to any kind of information on them was a scan from an old grimoire belonging to an acquaintance whose ancestors had dealt with a monstrous variation of the Euderus set. Stiles’ bat, covered in wormwood and peppermint oils, and a violent collection of rune arrays is proving surprisingly effective against them, but that doesn’t help Peter when a brutal stinger pierces his shoulder. Derek yells at Stiles to cover Peter while he and Isaac finish the last of the wasps off, and Peter feels numbness leeching down his body. Stiles hovers over him like a beautiful avenging angel, and if Peter could move his arms, he would snap a photo right now, resolution be damned.

They take Peter back to Stiles’ house, this time. A two-bedroom bungalow that looks like a witch’s cottage, with walls covered in books, dried herbs hanging everywhere, and little jars that half the pack has learned the hard way not to touch. Stiles makes his living selling tinctures and oils and the charms he’s mastering. He’s talented, no doubt, but he’s also just starting out, a beginner in the craft. Which leaves Peter with a conundrum.

Derek and Isaac have gone to the library in Derek’s loft, to search the collection of Deaton’s books for a solution. Peter has zero faith they will find something of use, but at least he won’t have an audience for the humiliation to come. Peter summons all the strength he can while the paralysis still pulses through him.

“Stiles.”

“Peter! Oh my god! You can talk! Is it wearing off? Can you move your fingers? Wiggle your toes? Shit, I should take off your shoes…”

“Stiles. 086539.”

“Uh… what.”

“Phone. Grimoire scan.”

Stiles remembers Peter reaching out to his connections, and pulls Peter’s phone from his pocket. “Dude, I’m so glad one Hale can keep a phone intact through a fight.”

The thing about locked galleries, is they only really work if you don’t have them open to pine over. So, say, if you’re paralyzed on the sofa bed in Stiles’ office currently, but earlier you were sighing pathetically at the photo of him cooing over Boyd and Erica’s newly adopted terrier, pitbull mix, then that is exactly what will be on the screen when your phone is unlocked.

Stiles furrows his brows for a second, glancing at Peter with an unreadable look. Peter would say something, if he could, but he really used everything he had on their stilted conversation. Stiles swipes through, and Peter knows what he’s seeing. Stiles with his head thrown back in laughter, sunburnt nose and ears at the barbecue. Stiles with a highlighter in his mouth, poring over a pile of books and his laptop. Stiles looking exquisite, surrounded in all Peter’s things, asleep in Peter’s home. And then, finally, the scan from the grimoire.

“Oh! Crab spider venom! I have that. Just a sec, sorry, this is going to taste awful.” Peter _might_ buy Stiles’ pre-emptive apology if the man hadn’t been sporting a wide grin since the second swipe on Peter’s phone.

Stiles moves in the graceful, graceless way only he can, preparing the venom antiserum and texting Derek and Isaac to let them know everything will be fine. He’s also right, it does taste awful.

As the serum moves through Peter’s system, he recovers enough to sit up on the sofa bed, casting a wary glance at Stiles from his nest of quilts and decorative throw pillows. He knows he’s in over his head because he actually finds the hideous things vaguely charming. Stiles is leaning back in his chair, drumming his fingers on his desk while he watches Peter and the wide grin keeps getting a little wider. Peter slowly exhales, and opens his mouth to… he’s not quite sure yet. Explain? Apologize? Misdirect?

“You like me. Like, a lot like me. Like you want to share my bitchin’ witchy home and make dinner together and curl up in your ridiculous cashmere throw on my couch and make little wolfy babies with me like me. You want to be surrounded by Stiles 24/7.”

Stiles launches up from his chair, over to the bed, and leans in with a smirk and a glint in his eyes. “I’m going to make some awesome soup, and you can tell me all about how you’re hot for my bod and **pining** for me.”

He leaves with a wink and a laugh definitely at Peter’s expense. Peter leans his head back against the wall, smiling. He’s going to have to work for the upper hand, given how this relationship has begun. That’s alright, though. He’s Peter Goddamn Hale. He can do this.

**Author's Note:**

> [Cold Wind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25202863?view_full_work=true) seemed to be fairly well-received, so I thought I'd try my hand at a series of short, unrelated oneshots. 
> 
> [Surround me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fn06Edo8asw).
> 
> Also hey, I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sarahfairwrites) and [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/sarahfairwrites/) now for art/writing, if you want to chat/follow.


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